14368/Got a Bridge to sell you...

Got a Bridge to sell you...
Date of Scene:	10 March 2023
Location:	Brooklyn Bridge
Synopsis:	Robbie and Phoebe take a walk along the Brooklyn Bridge, and have an in-depth conversation. Phoebe uses a very carefully practiced phrase on Robbie. There's some crying, probably. It's cold.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Robbie Reyes

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It was a decent, if slightly chilly night in New York City. The March weather had been surprisingly mild, and though the nights were dipping into freezing temperatures, it wasn't so bad if you bundled up a little against the cold.

    Phoebe had shown up towards the end of a shift wearing a puffy jacket, an orange scarf around her neck and her braids tucked into a matching orange pom-pom hat.

    They had stopped at Bella's to grab hot chocolate (still no rainbow marshmallows), and Phoebe held hers in her hands, letting the warmth travel through the cardboard cup as she inhales the scent.

    The wind picks up a little bit as they hit the walkway of the Brooklyn Bridge, spanning the East River. Cars buzz past them, and other late night walkers minding their own business rush along.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie's been 'busy' lately, as he calls it. Which could be code for anything from needing to take care of his brother, to putting in extra hours at his side job with Janet, to unplanned trips to Hell at Eli's behest. The guy's not exactly forthcoming about these niggly little details.

But he's as good as his word, and shows up on time. For him, a black hoodie and black jeans that fit snug to his lean frame, and faded nearly grey with wear. His leather jacket's unzipped, but the distinctive white stripe is unmistakeable, as are the shit-kicking boots he hasn't bothered to lace properly.

"So," he murmurs some time later, having been fairly quiet up until this point. "You gonna tell me what this is about?" His eyes flick sidelong to the girl. "Lemme guess. You're stuck with orange, and you want me to help you plan revenge?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe had also been dealing with her own Night Work, or Knight Work, and a sudden influx of schoolwork. At least there weren't any galas to contend with.

    "I *like* orange. It's my second favorite color after pink." Phoebe replies, walking along a moment more.

    "But... on a related note." she begins, and she looks up to the LED lights that light the thick cables of the bridge at night, their boots tapping against the pedestrian promenade.

    "So... I really like you. I can see this... y'know. Going long-term." she states, her eyes drifting to Robbie's face, looking up at him.

    "And the longer we're together, doing stuff..." she fiddles a moment with the lid of her cup, her eyes dropping.

    "You're not dumb, Robbie. You're gonna figure out who the Night Job Family are." she draws the left side of her lips slightly, her nose giving a little wrinkle.

    "I trust you, with everything of me. Including my family. But I get if that's a responsibility you don't want."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He was, in truth, just being a smartass about the whole revenge thing. But pretends to look disappointed when Phoebe informs him it won't be happening. "The hat does look cute on you," he murmurs with a sip of his hot chocolate.

And then the dreaded words: *I really like you*. She can spot the moment his broad shoulders tense up, head ducked as he waits for the inevitable 'but'--

Which doesn't seem to happen.

He steals a sidelong glance at Phoebe, brows furrowing slightly as they walk. "Go on." His tone is maybe a little wary. But mostly curious.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's smile quirks again a little.

    "Their identities are things they've built up over years. Long before I got involved with anything superhero. And their secrets aren't mine to say. But even I figured it out before Batman came to me, after I'd been working with Red Robin for a long time... and stuffed Nightwing's guts back into his body. That's a terrible way to meet someone." she explains quietly, and then she gets a concerned face "... I thought he was going to throw me off the roof, honestly. He's still *scary*." she adds, sipping her cocoa. HOT. She runs her tongue along her top lip, and then turns to look up at him fully.

    "So, I want you to know that I trust you with my family, the same way you trust me with yours, yeah?" she stammers a little bit, heart pounding like a rabbit's again, shoulders rising up.

    "You said you also had important stuff to talk about, too, don't let me take up the whole span."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He doesn't interrupt as she unravels whatever it is she needs to say. Just that quiet, somewhat worried attentiveness as the yarn's spun. As the word *family*'s mentioned. Which, as anyone familiar with Robbie knows, is serious stuff.

"Okay," he starts hesitantly, then stops. Then tries again: "What about your family? There somethin' I should know?" The demon, of course, can practically smell the fear on her, and his amber eye flickers red in the passing glare of a streetlamp as he turns to watch her. "I'll get to mine. Ain't in a rush."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe had almost skipped a step, looking up and catching the flicker of red of Robbie's amber eye -- maybe just the reflection of a tail light. Trick of the street light bouncing off something. She feels her heart drop slightly.

    ".You've already met most of them. Just... at different times. Like I said, their identities aren't mine to say -- besides," her shoulders rise up again "either they'll let you know when they're ready, or you'll figure it out like I did," she gives a slight smile. "A couple of them approve of you even. The Big B, he's... a little more cautious. And I had to think for a couple weeks on having this conversation... but..." she looks up to Robbie, and her shoulders rise up again, her cheeks darkening.

    "I trust you, fully, you know." And there was a warmth in her voice, sweeter and hotter than the cocoa they carried, right from that nervous heart of hers.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Well, that's cryptic as hell. He watches the girl beside him a moment more, brows furrowing slightly at her smile. Then he turns away again, huddling a little more into his jacket as they reach the crest of the bridge, where the wind's crisper.

"Ain't gonna try to make you tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable," he assures in a low murmur. That she trusts him-- he ducks his head and takes a quick drink of his hot chocolate to cover for feeling suddenly, terribly, vulnerable.

"And Eli." His voice is soft, uncertain. "What about him?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... we both knew Eli would be a... complication. Going into this, I mean," she draws herself up a little, looking up to Robbie as she considers her words carefully.

    "I know he's part of you. You told me so." she replies. She holds her cocoa cup in one hand, her other hand reaching a little, brushing against his elbow as they walk, fingernails catching briefly against the leather.

    "But you know him better than I do, and... where boundaries lay. I'm sure he's had a lot to say 'bout things."

    She sips her cocoa. "What're your thoughts?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie gives a soft snort at that. "He's always got a lot to say about things. Likes hearin' himself talk, you know?" He looks back over at the brush to his elbow, mouth quirking in wry amusement.

Then after a brief but noticeable hesitation, he lays his hand against the small of her back, and attempts to guide her toward the railing where it overlooks the East River. Whereupon he takes a slouching lean against it with both elbows. "My thoughts 'bout what, Eli?" He runs his tongue along his teeth with a soft *clack-clack-clack* of his piercing. "I think. I think he's gonna be a problem sooner or later. And I gotta find a way to get rid of him. If it don't kill me. Which it probably will."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I know a lot of people like that." Phoebe notes with some sort of amusement in her expression, and she feels his hand against her back. She lts him guide her to overlook the river, listening to the wind as she lean over the railing. She looks over the water, seeing the lights reflected. Little ice floes -- that water looks Cold As Fuck. Shock would kick in if someone jumped and hit the water, hypothermia in 30 minutes if the shock didn't make them drown.

    She was always terrified of drowning.

    "I've been looking through my ancestors' writings. There's a couple of promising leads, but nothing I have that's solid yet. I'd ask Constantine or Zee, or Jason Blood if I could reliably get a hold of them." the young mage replies softly.

    And then she leans against him, elbow to elbow, her arm invading some personal space of his, if he permits it, the shorter girl turning to look up to Robbie.

    "I'm not losing you." she states, as if it were a simple decision. Oatmeal for breakfast. Hummus for lunch. Not losing Robbie Reyes.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Maybe he's thinking the same thing, looking down at the water. How long he could make it before Eli took over. Eli, who doesn't need to breathe or eat or sleep, and could just lie there on the riverbed like a broken doll as long as he felt like.

He draws in a quick pull of air when Phoebe speaks again, and finishes off the now-lukewarm hot chocolate. The cup's tossed in a trashcan conveniently placed a few feet away, and he pats himself down for his pack of cigarettes.

"Everyone dies some day," he mumbles to her *not losing you*. "Maybe I just get to choose when." With only his profile offered, a green eye ticks up to meet her darker ones.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Most people do." Phoebe replies quietly, nursing the rest of her cocoa, though she holds onto her cup. She's not trusting the wind, andshe doesn't want to leave Robbie's side at just this moment, her dark eyes looking to his green, examining his sharp profile, and then she takes a breath, and she gets closer, just... pressing against him. Her hip to his leg, making up for her shortness.

    He's warm, would be the excuse she gave, and though she can survive hypothermia, it's not like it's pleasant to deal with -- but she needed that closeness. Maybe he did too, her dark eyes still on his face, the fibers of the pom pom ruffling in the wind.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Well, that gets a laugh out of him. Because she's right. "Most people," he amends, tapping out a cigarette and sliding the pack back into his jeans pocket with the tip of his finger. With just the two of them here, he doesn't bother using his lighter; the cigarette's ignited by the time it reaches his lips for that first, much anticipated drag.

He's still hesitant, it seems, to initiate contact; but content enough to share his warmth with her through that light contact. And warmth, he's got plenty of.

"Anyway, uh.. had some guy show up at the shop, the other night. Looked like the kinda guy someone pays to do shady shit when they wanna keep their own hands clean." His brows knit together again, eyes creasing slightly at the corners. "Gave me some money, said I could keep it if I broke up with you."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She was guilty of pulling the same trick. She was trying to quit. Red Robin didn't approve of her smoking.

    The clove cigarettes smelled different enough that it didn't trigger the need for something in her mouth. Definitely nicer smelling than Silk Cuts.

    "... wait, *what*?" she questions, her nose wrinkling as she turns sharp focus back to Robbie, her hand holding a bit tighter around her empty paper mug.

    "Who the fu-- you didn't accept it, did you?" she asks, eyes watering a little bit at the wind.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The cloves are something of a breed unto their own. Spicy-sweet with the faintest whiff of vanilla.

Robbie does a little double-take, though, when she asks if he accepted it. "You really think I'd take a fuckin' bribe like that?" he retorts, raising a brow. "That I'd leave you at the first sign of five hundred bucks, or what the hell ever was in that paper bag? Coulda been monopoly money for all I know."

Because he never bothered looking. That's why.

The young mechanic's expression twists into something like irritation-- though not with Phoebe. "Anyway, I managed to get a name outta him. Phillip Cupp. Remember him?" His tone's ironic; he knows she does.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Look, remember when I said that Life likes to take a crap when I find a bit of 'happy'?" Phoebe replies "That would have been the cue." she mutters crossly, but she leans further into Robbie when he confirms he told the guy and the bag to fuck off in a that-wardly direction. But when Robbie says the name, the paper cup in her hand audiably crunches. And satisfied that the wind wasn't going to take it, she pitches it into the same garbage can. It bounces off the rim and into the can.

    "... Phillip Cupp. Showed up at Wayne Enterprises. Tim ran interferance while I hid in his office. He was blowing up my phone so I blocked him. I have no idea what his fricking problem is... how much 'not interested' do I have to show?" she asks Robbie.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Of course he remembers. They've talked about this before, the almost superstitious avoidance of anything resembling faith that things will *be okay*. Hers, and his, and the problems it's caused.

"Yeah." He exhales a stream of smoke from his lips and nose between that word and the next two: "That guy." A brief flick of his eyes toward said garbage can as the cup looks like it won't go in-- and then does.

"There some reason I can't just go find him and have a little chit chat about respecting a girl's wishes?" His mismatched eyes rove back to Phoebe's, the look on his face intent and unsmiling. "Y'know, if I promise to do my best not to burn 'is balls off?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "He's running for public office." Phoebe replies quietly, "If anything happens to him, everyone will find out, and night work will have to get involved, and that's a mess." Phoebe seems to wilt a little bit, taking a deep breath of the spicy, vanilla-bitten smoke, and she breathes out, and tilts her head down.

    "He's just an asshole. If he gets voted in I'm sure there'll be plenty of tail to chase in Washington for him to leave me the hell alone. Only one guy I want to pay that kinda 'tention to me." she states quietly, and she breathes out and taps her jacket, looking for her own smokes. And they're like, three layers deep, hiding there, and her shoulders tense. She didn't want to dig them out and upset how close they were standing.

    "'Sides. THere's probably a deli counter somehwere with 'beat up Cupp'."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Didn't say I'd kill 'im and dump the body in the river," Robbie grumbles, flicking some ash off the end of his cigarette with his thumb. "Just let Eli put a little fear of the devil in 'im. Get him to rethink his life choices."

There's that tiny twist of his upper lip as he looks out over the water, like he wants to bare those razor-sharp silver teeth. But the aggression's held in check. Mostly.

"Ain't gonna touch him. For now." More smoke filters lazily from his lips, curling away, spiderlike, into the chill air. "But I can't promise that won't change, he don't cut this shit out." The words are quiet, and hold the same sharp edge as the demon's fanged maw. Not a threat, but a promise.

"You cold?" he asks eventually, frowning down at the younger woman.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "No, I wanna smoke 'cause I'm... just... stressed?" she wrinkles her nose a moment, and then she crosses her arms, and her hand sinks into the crook of Robbie's elbow. "Okay. I am a little cold." she mumbles in admission, and then turns her gaze back up to the taller man, fingers curling. The wind's lifting her scarf a little bit.

    "I'm serious, Robbie. I've lost enough people I love. I don't wanna lose you too." she whispers, her voice almost lost in the wind on the bridge, biting into the skin. "He's just some asshole with money," she repeats, and then adds quietly "... though man to see his face once he sees the Rider, see his heart drop into his stomach the same way I run..."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He considers that statement for a few seconds, and then the one that follows it. Then shifts slightly, swapping his clove to the left hand as the right reaches for Phoebe, and gathers her close. Body to body, facing one another if she permits, and with his hip against the railing now.

"And *I'm* serious," he argues, taking another drag off the clove, exhaling to one side so it doesn't blow into her face. "Ain't gonna lose me. Not to the likes of him. But you got something you actually wanna say, say it."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe feels her heart thudding as RObbie turns her. She's gathered up close, the sharp, cold smell of steel and burning cities, leather and motor oil, clove and tobacco and vanilla. Mixed fear and adoration, pupils wide in the lights, blown open as if she wants to memorize every detail. The way his curls flit in the wind, the exact shades of his eyes, the count of every freckle on his skin, estimation of the temperature of his warmer-than-normal self.

    And then, her arms draw up, her hands on his upper arms, curling into the leather of his jacket, nails pressing little half moons into him as she goes up to her tip toes and holding herself up, she tries to kiss him, anywhere her lips would reach on the liminal span, this space between shores and over the river, and then whispers three words, in carefully practiced Spanish:

    "Te amo demasiado..."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He can *taste* the way her heart trips faster against the cage of her chest, and it rouses the demon coiled, watchful, inside him. Wrapped around his soul as sure as a vise. The cocktail of emotion in her wide eyes and fingers clutched at his jacket-- it's like catnip to a cat.

The kiss is received with some hesitation: he stalls her a hair's breadth away, almost seems like he might shy away. But then allows it, tender and faltering, parting slow like it's the first time they've kissed.

But it's those three words that knock the breath out of him momentarily; he stares with wide eyes, falling still and silent, his hand still bunched in her jacket as if to keep the girl from blowing over the railing and into the river.

Well, at least he isn't running away.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She almost drew back at the hesitation, but pressed forward, whispering into his ear, feeling the grip of his hand in her jacket, her own curled into the leather, as if falling off into the wind was a fear, and her eyebrows draw up, her lips still slightly parted with the taste of the clove cigarette against her lips as she draws back to the walkway of the bridge as a late night car roars by them. She'd practiced the phrase a thousand times in the mirror, listening to native speakers say it, perfecting it so that there would be no mistake.

    Phoebe, who would rip her own skin apart for someone she even thought loved her, holds her breath.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The last time he told someone he loved her, it spun out of control. Couldn't keep a handle on it, couldn't keep his feet under him. Then the apartment burning down, and 'coming out' to his brother, and moving in together, and watching everything he knew slip between his fingers like he never had it in the first place.

And instead of the words he *wants* to say, what comes out is a harshly whispered, "I-- can't. Phoebe--" She can see him swallow. And then, if she allows, he pulls her tight against him like he's holding on for dear life, and tucks his head against her shoulder. Eyes closed, nuzzling his curls against her knit hat.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She smells like roses and black pepper, citrus and clean laundry and the remainder of clove and vanilla from kissing him. She's pulled tight against him, the softness of her knit cap and its pompom, its matching scarf and the warmth of her jacket. Her fingers draw up from his arms to his neck, then through his curls, and she breathes out in a soft sound.

    "It's okay, Robbie, you don't have to say anything. I know..." she whispers against him, and turns her head to brush her lips by his cheek.

    "I know."